Washington State Black and Blue
by 90sDeathGrip
Summary: If anything, the obsession is thriving stronger than ever now that they're in College. SamxFreddie
1. That Girl

**First attempt at tackling Seddie. Hopefully I didn't mangle them too badly. There will be a few more chapters to this. No more than five though, I'm thinking.**

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The wind nips at Freddie's skin a little bit too insistently to call the night perfect, but when has anything Sam's dragged him into ever been ideal? He shoves his hands into his pockets and pulls his jacket close. The shadows are long and menacing – the kind his mother has spent a lifetime warning him about. Somewhere back home in Seattle, he's sure her neck is prickling with prospect teeters between vaguely terrifying and fairly amusing. A little bit like spending time with Sam past a dimly lit diner that he fully expects to revisit before the night is out, Freddie contemplates the few vaguely defined similarities and the many contradictions between Sam and his mom. He's heard about guys ending up with carbon copies of their parents. Read about it as well. He's woken up in a cold sweat at the prospect of a wife like his mom as well. A lifetime of 'colouring between the lines' as Sam has sometimes dubbed his upbringing; Freddie doesn't think he could take it.

Maybe that's why he's allowed Sam to talk him into attending the very exclusive, very underground and very illegal MMA fight tonight.

Sam's love affair with MMA – violence in general, actually – hadn't been a passing fling during high school. If anything, the obsession is thriving stronger than ever now that they're in College. Grudgingly, Freddie's found himself considerably more enthralled in the blood sport recently. Mostly because of Sam's enthusiasm, but also a little bit because Shelby Marx has finally made it off the tiny regional shows. Her face has been all over the promotional material for the glitzy Las Vegas fights that Sam is constantly invading his apartment to watch on cable.

Freddie's been swimming around in his thoughts for longer than he'd thought. Looking up from the pavement, Sam's building is veering into green and from the one time he's been inside, much cleaner than he'd expected, the place is hard to miss. A little bit sadly, Freddie acknowledges that it's the kind of place Carly would have picked if she hadn't been swept away by Europe's still remembers the day Sam came back from Hollywood, all bright eyed and bereft of her usual snarl. She'd been so excited about living with her best friend.

That nights video chat with Carly – the one where their best friend had tearfully informed them she probably wouldn't be coming home – had almost killed Sam. He remembers the hollow look on her face, the one that wasn't happy or sad or angry or bitter, but somehow all of them at the same time.

She'd slept on the Benson couch for a solid week after that, watching Freddie like a hawk and ignoring his mother. He's still mostly sure that enduring a week of being a Benson had been Sam's way of ensuring he didn't flee for Europe to join Carly.

Trudging up the steps, Freddie shakes his head. It's so like Sam to skirt around expressing her feelings verbally. He can count the amount of times she's been real with him on his and pointedly avoiding ringing the doorbell that Sam absolutely detests, Freddie raps his knuckles against the door. Nonchalantly, he rocks back on his heels and waits for her to come blowing through the door with all the grace of a tornado.

Several minutes pass without a suggestion of movement, but then the door is flying open. Predictably enough Sam is peering back at him, hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders. Briefly – maybe before she's registered who he is – Sam's eyebrows are drawn down in irritation at having to answer the door. After a beat, her features soften slightly and she nods in greeting. "Benson." She says simply enough.

"Ready for some mindless violence?" Freddie asks, grinning a little bit.

"When am I _not_, Fredwina?" The left side of Sam's mouth lifts up, dragging a smirk across her lips. Without preamble, she lunges forward, brushing past Freddie and slamming the door all at instinct is to protest, but then Sam is grabbing the cuff of his jacket and yanking him toward the footpath.

There's a hot dog cart parked three houses down from where Sam lives. As it draws closer, Sam tugs at Freddie's 's been the primary target of her mooching for the last six months – a lot longer if one doesn't include Spencer and Carly. As such, Freddie's already reaching for his wallet by the time they're in front of the hot dog vendor and the man's expectant grin. Sam orders three chilli dogs and Freddie mindlessly drags a twenty from his wallet. Between the man's grin and his experiences with Sam, Freddie is sure this particular vendor's location isn't a coincidence. He probably followed Sam home after a particularly profitable week. She's probably funding the guy's dream vacation or something.

"Benson." Sam's voice cuts through the air, pulling Freddie from his thoughts. Turning to her, he realises that she's jabbing a chilli dog in his direction. A grin overcomes Freddie's face as he accepts the admittedly delicious smelling food.

Without warning, Sam sets off again and Freddie jogs to fall in line with her. Taking a bite from his chilli dog, Freddie's eyes blow wide open and then make a quick shift to Sam.

"There aren't any onions in this!" He exclaims loudly.

Sam looks over at him sharply, blue eyes steely and grey. "Nobody likes onions, Frederella. Don't go getting your panties in a bunch. You're not special or anything." Sam informs him, taking a bite from her onion riddled chilli dog.

Freddie fights the urge to mention this to her, but Sam is a strange creature. He knows better than to question her motivations. Turning his thoughts to something else, Freddie wonders when exactly Sam had made the change to his order. It must have been while he was zoned out. Taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully, Freddie wonders if things had been like this between Carly and Sam. He wonders if every token gesture of kindness to pass between them had been shrouded in denials from Sam. They continue to walk and Freddie continues to wonder. He doesn't really have a problem with the way things are; it's more of an idle curiosity than anything.

The hot dog cart is a spec in the distance by the time Freddie has finished eating. Sam's kicking at whatever debris are scattered in front of her, having demolished her chilli dogs by the time Freddie was halfway with his one. Looking over at her, he can't decide if the look on Sam's face is contemplative or just bored. He's known her for years and mastered three fictional languages in that time, but Sam, despite being his she's a still something of a mystery.

"Geez, it's about time Fredward." Sam notes, meeting his gaze. Almost immediately, Freddie feels his cheeks heat up. Her gaze, piercing and so, so blue always puts him on edge.

"Hey,_ you_ try eating without chewing each mouthful twelve times around my mom." He complains more out of habit than any real sense of outrage. "Old habits are hard to break."

Freddie swears he hears something like 'don't I know it' pass through Sam's lips. He's about to ask what she means when an entirely different and much louder sentence emanates from her lips. "Hey look, the club is up ahead!" Sam blurts out, probably looking for an escape as well.

It's a diversion that Freddie is grateful for. The serious side of Sam, sometimes quiet, occasionally neurotic and always a little bit insecure, scares him more than anything. For all of his posturing about wanting her to be real with him, Freddie just feels relieved when Sam takes hold of his sleeve and charges forward.

It's so much easier to be a coward and watch sports with her than it is deal with problems and emotions and everything in between.

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**If you enjoyed it or have any ideas for the next chapter, drop me a review :)**


	2. Hole in the Wall

**Second Chapter. Things are moving along a little bit, giving a sense of where I think Freddie and Sam's dynamic has shifted to.**

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The club, predictably enough, is more of a hole in the wall than anything resembling a licensed premises. Nose crinkled, Freddie surveys the scene unfolding around him and shuffles closer to Sam. A sickly mixture of blood, sweat and off brand beer fills the air. It's like something from his mother's version of hell.

"Isn't this heavenly?" Sam asks wondrously, slowly closing her eyes and luxuriating in a deep breath.

Nose crinkled, Freddie gapes at her. He's only slightly surprised at her enthusiasm for such a dank place. "Yeah, it's … something." He replies, nervous eyes still roaming around the room.

When he turns back to Sam, her lips are curved upwards with something other than their usual malevolence. Taking a long step forwards, she hangs an arm over Freddie's shoulder. He bristles as the smell of honey shampoo and ham tinged breathe overcomes the room's odour.

"Don't worry Fredwardo, Mama will protect you." Sam says with all of her usual bravado. In spite of the fact that she's all of a surly 5 foot tall and there are enough dangerous looking people around them to take over a small island nation, Freddie feels vaguely reassured.

"You always do." Freddie says, not quite joking. "Aside from when – uh, aside from when you're the one attacking me, y'know." He quickly amends, catching the way Sam's eyebrows pique.

"Idiot. I haven't even tried to armbar you in three months." Sam grumbles, extricating her arm from Freddie's shoulder. The lighting in the club is terrible, but even under its feeble glow; Freddie could swear there is a pink flush high on Sam's cheekbones. Then again, that might just be wishful thinking.

Somewhere across the room an excited rumble begins to build and several lights flare to life. Freddie whips his head around, not entirely sure what is going on. From the sudden surge of people brushing past him, he's got a pretty decent idea though.

"C'mon Sam." Freddie shouts over the room that's rapidly moving from loud to deafening. "You want good seats, don't you?"

Intimidated by the writhing mass around him, Freddie takes the lead for once. He laces his fingers through Sam's and rushes toward the cage at the centre of the room. Calling on a childhood filled with extracurricular activities that are varying degrees of embarrassing, Freddie leads himself and Sam through the small pockets of space in the crowd.

Miraculously enough, by the time Freddie is emerging from the crowd with Sam in tow, he's only been elbowed in the face three times. He's even sure that the first two had been accidental. The third – a blow landing somewhere to the side of his left eyebrow – had been a good deal more malicious.

"Whoa, I am going to have to start taking you out of your ziplock bag more often, Fredface." Sam says, a slight lilt of appreciation in her voice. Freddie spins around just in time to catch her nodding in agreement with herself.

And then his face ruins it.

"You – what the hell, dude?" Sam exclaims, face twisting up in revulsion – and maybe a little bit of concern. "Your face is messed up – like more messed up than usual." As is often the case, Sam tacks an insult onto something that could have otherwise been misconstrued as kind.

"Is it bad? Some guy – guys and a girl, actually – elbowed me on our way here." Freddie replies, shoulders jumping up and down in casual disregard. His brow is throbbing, but honestly, it isn't that bad. He thinks he might have even had worse from Carly in the past.

"It's already swelling up." Sam mumbles, looking as though she's not quite sure whether to take a step toward Freddie or rush back into the crowd. The uncertainty lingers on Sam's face for another brief moment, but then it's mutating into something darker. Her lips thin into an unhappy line and her eyebrows crash down over her stormy blue eyes. "What did they look like –_ idiots -_" She seethes "You know what, it doesn't matter."

Sam's already turning and charging into battle when Freddie throws his arm out. She freezes when his fingers clasp her shoulder.

"Sam -" She slowly turns back to him, eyes still murderous. Even directed toward other people, the expression is still intimidating. "While I'm totally flattered you'd go and defend my honor, wouldn't you rather stay here – you know, right in front of the cage – and watch somebody else do the beating while you do nothing?"

Sam's expression lightens. She's always enjoyed violence and Freddie embarrassing himself – even if they're both aware that this time it's intentional. A snort of amusement rips through Sam's lips, displacing all of her fury. "Your honor?" She asks incredulously, folding her arms over her chest.

"I didn't mean – you know what I meant." Freddie grumbles in a tone that he's long since mastered. He's fairly surely that it balances the line between sounding like genuine annoyance and playful banter perfectly.

"Yeah, yeah. You're a regular Rapunzel. Now Fredpunzel, Fredpunzel; let down your golden wallet. Mama spies a concession stand." Sam says blithely, thrusting her petite hand towards him, palm upturned. Biting back a laugh, Freddie tugs his wallet from his pants and liberates another twenty dollar note for Sam.

When the announcer is finally stepping into the cage and beginning the preamble to introducing the fighters, it's just past midnight. Sam is reclining in her dented seat like a throne, casually sifting through a small stack of money. Freddie is sitting beside her, posture rigid, shoulders taut with stress. There is a small mob of tattoos and wounded egos behind them. All manic with energy drinks and chilli dogs, Sam had challenged each of them to arm wrestle her. _Don't do it_, he'd told them. _She's not normal_, he'd warned.

"Do – d'you think we're safe?" Freddie asks, leaning over and holding the back of Sam's chair for support.

Slowly, slowly Sam looks up at him. A wisp of blonde hair hangs over her eye. "I don't know…" She murmurs, uncharacteristically thoughtful for the briefest of seconds. But then –

"What do you say, you pack of sissies? You're not planning anything are you?" All of a sudden, Sam is fierce again and turning in her seat. Her brows are drawn down tightly against her eyes, the sneer splayed across her lips full of challenge.

An entire row cowers beneath her glare. Several heads shake, the rest of them look away. Freddie's breath catches in his throat when Sam looks at him, a disarming smile flitting across his lips. It reminds Freddie of how easily Sam has always swung between scary and beautiful.

"Yeah, they aren't doing anything." Sam announces, eyebrows jumping in that self-satisfied way she's got perfected. As she turns back to the flabby announcer in the cage, Freddie feels lucky she is here to protect him. Another part of his manhood withers away.

As he's lamenting its loss, the speakers dotted around the cage crackle and blare to life. A song that Freddie's only vaguely familiar with – he thinks he'd heard it in Sam's room one time – floods the room. Everybody around him shuffles to their feet, so Freddie does too. The first fighter – Knuckles Peterson or Cedric Munque, from what Freddie's gathered from Sam's various ramblings – bursts through a small doorway. All scowls and muscles and tattoos, the man charges through a chorus of boos.

The confusion Freddie is feeling must have carved itself into his expression. Sam ceases her booing and snaps her jaw shut with an undiscernible click against the ambience of the room. Turning to him, Sam manages to sound both sincere and a little bit condescending with her next words. "_That_ one is Munque, Benson." She informs him.

Not really sure what to say, Freddie just nods. Beside him, there is a snort. It's ill mannered, unladylike and _so_ Puckett. When he looks over to her, Sam is already glaring at Munque again. Though machinegun fire insults are spitting through her lips, Sam looks happy. If he squints, Freddie thinks he can see a spark of joy in her eyes that's been missing since they last filmed iCarly. It's surprising how easy it's been to fall into a routine with Sam. When she's like this – the slightest bit unguarded – he can almost fool himself into thinking Carly will be back with Peppy Cola at any moment. He can almost fool himself that he isn't standing right at the edge of real life and it's too terrifying to comprehend.

He can almost fool himself that this is a date.


End file.
